


Gradual Landslide

by plant_boi_potter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Chaptered, Childlike perspective, Cross-Generation Relationship, Eventual Smut, Feelings, Heartbreak, Lust, M/M, POV Albus Severus Potter, Scorpius Malfoy & Albus Severus Potter Friendship, Secret Crush, Slytherin Albus Severus Potter, Sort Of, Sprinklings of loyalty and disloyalty, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 17:43:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17626751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plant_boi_potter/pseuds/plant_boi_potter
Summary: I didn't mean to fall in love. I didn't mean to spend my nights raking my hands through his hair, or sliding my fingers down his back, but it happened. And I don't know how.That's not quite the truth. The truth is much more complicated - life is much more complicated. Sometime's I wish it wasn't.





	1. A mirror's image distorts reality to make it pretty

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a bit differently, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.

I kicked my legs while flipping through Scorp's potions book. He makes better notes than me. I used to draw in them, until he became an 'adult' - all huffy and boring and preoccupied with school.I huffed in frustration, slamming the book closed before retiring to the windowsill to watch the rain race down the window pane.   
I was supposed to be spending the weekend with him but he'd insisted on going shopping first. I don't understand why anyone would go shopping voluntarily, so I elected to stay home and study. I wondered briefly if he was cold. That was before Mr. Malfoy poked his head around the door and asked if I was alright. 

Mr. Malfoy has always been nice enough, but he does sort of wrinkle his nose at me sometimes. It's never a big wrinkle, but just enough to show his distaste. I've never asked about it, I sort of wish I had, looking back.   
"Studying hard are we, Albus?"   
He always used my full name too, even though it made me feel like an old man every time he said it. It reminded me I had a stupid name. 

"Um...yes." I didn't sound very convincing. It didn't help that the potion's book was halfway across the room, upside down. I must have looked decidedly guilty because Mr. Malfoy strode into the room, bending down to hand it to me. Thankfully, he didn't say anything about me sitting on his windowsill. I supposed Scorpius did it all the time. 

He wrinkled his nose, like he often did, before departing. I wrinkled my nose at the heels of his shoes. Seriously; what type of fool wears shoes in his own house! Carpets will always be for socks, in my opinion. Socks are good for sliding. 

I stared after Mr. Malfoy a little longer than I intended, craning my neck to such a point that I toppled off the window-ledge, landing nose first on the plush carpet. If it had happened five minute's earlier I would have hit Mr. Malfoy's Derby shoes. 

The rain soon turned to sleet. It lashed against the windows, forcefully loud. Scorp must have had double-glazing because the windows didn't rattle like my dad's.

Scorp must have bustled through the door no sooner than I had picked the Potion's book back up because I heard Mr. Malfoy yell from downstairs. 

The door shut with a bang. Scorp was frost-bitten and ice coated his hair. It was hardly noticeable though because his hair was already snowy white. It looked like Mr. Malfoy's, a little bit.

Pulling his shoes and socks off, was the only time he stood moderately still since he'd gotten home. He looked very pink in the face. I sat and listened to him explain how the sleet had turned to hail and how he'd run home with armfuls of bags.   
"You went out for JEANS!"   
"My dad said that." He rubbed a raw hand over the back of his neck and I saw him shiver. 

"For Merlin's sake, Scorp." I don't think he heard me, with all his distracted shivering. Uncrossing my legs was horrible, massaging them back to life was worse.   
I walked on pins and needles while hunting for spare blankets. I'd already stripped the duvet from his bed and given him my cable knit turtleneck. It was big on me, so it almost drowned Scorp. He looked happy though, swaddled in copious amounts of blankets like that. 

I scooted downstairs in my socks. (They were really cool snake ones).   
"Mr. Malfoy?" I panted, a little out of breath.   
Mr. Malfoy grunted, acknowledging me but not looking up.   
"Can Scorp- Scoripus." I corrected myself abruptly. I knew him well enough that a Malfoy never went by substitutes. "Can Scorpius have a cup of something hot? Please?"   
There was a loud crack, followed by the appearance of the family house-elf. I gulped as a second-hand guilt washed over me. 

We were alone again. Mr. Malfoy was seated obscurely over his desk, papers arranged in neat little stacks. I, on the other hand, was leaning against a very expensive looking plinth just inside his study. "I'm sorry about your old house-elf Mr. Malfoy."  
I immediately regretted the words as soon as they were spoken. I probably wasn't being a good house guest by bringing up old feuds that Mr. Malfoy had with my father. 

My hand went to my mouth. I wasn't even sure that I'd done it until it was gently lifted off and placed by my side again. Mr. Malfoy was holding my wrist.   
He'd left his chair to stand in front of me. It would have been a bit condescending, if I had been thinking. But I wasn't. I don't think he was either because he grabbed hold of my hand.   
I think, sometimes, that he would have kissed me, if the house elf hadn't wandered into the room to hand me two cups of steaming hot chocolate.   
"Cream and sprinkles, Master Potter?" The house-elf had started calling Master Potter after it had heard Mr. Malfoy talk about me like that. The name had stuck. But I certainly had no intention of stopping it. I found it hilarious and indeed, as if on cue, a giggle erupted from my stomach. That was before I suppressed it.   
Mr. Malfoy had once said "Men do not giggle, Scorpius." And I always admired Scorpius, so I tried to emulate him at every opportunity.   
"Master Potter?" I was almost beaming, thinking of how I must have impressed Mr. Malfoy. I almost forgot the question. Then I remembered.   
"Sprinkles, please! Chocolate!" 

Mr. Malfoy stepped behind me and I immediately noticed the coldness that seeped between the gaps he'd made. I longed for that closeness again, but it was fleeting because a second later, two mugs were placed in my hands. They were still outstretched to where we'd shared the warmth of the others' fingers.   
Remembering made my hands tingle as I sidestepped the house elf and slipped upstairs. 

I placed the mugs on the floor near where Scorp sat, crossing my fingers that they wouldn't spill onto the carpet as I went to shut the door.   
I grimaced as the hinged squeaked. "Your house is so old". I groaned out the last word before seating myself on the floor opposite Scorp.   
"I know." He grinned. "It's great". He took a sip of his hot chocolate. I must have seemed confused because he did seem as if he'd continue. He wiped froth from his mouth with the corner of a blanket.  
"It's so old Al. It has secret passageways and everything!"

He seemed to warm up as rapidly to his own ideas, talking nineteen to the dozen. A layer of blanket left his shoulders when he got animated enough, which was a lot. So I was left with a wildly gesticulating Scorpius Malfoy, who had an audience consisting mostly of eiderdowns.


	2. At first it came in waves, and then all at once

"How were the Malfoy's?" Dad looked concerned. He always looks concerned when I spend time with Scorp.   
I rolled my eyes in an effort to showcase how ridiculous he was being. "They were fine, dad."   
He bombarded me with questions. Sometime's he reminded me of Scorp. He'd just go off on a tangent and I'd have to sit patiently and nod or shake when necessary. I threw in some 'mmm's' and 'uh-huh's' for good measure. 

"Albus, are you listening to me?!"  
"I said yes!"   
He raised an eyebrow. "Albus." Oh. Oh no. "You just agreed that Grindlewald was correct in his assumptions about Muggles in the first war."  
"Did I?" I was only slightly horrified at myself for some reason... maybe you have to experience something like that for it to take a real toll on you...  
"No, but you could have."   
Dad gave me a pointed look before turning towards the kitchen to make everyone else food. He was probably taking another jab at Mr. Malfoy somehow but I didn't want to think about it. I still don't.

I hate that I'm a byproduct of the Second Wizarding War. Me and Scorp talk about it sometimes, well out of Mr. Malfoy's or my dad's hearing. Sometime's I think it's the only reason we're friends. With that thought at the forefront of my mind, I made my way to my room. 

Before unpacking, I laid on my bed. Staring at the ceiling allowed me solace but thoughts kept piling up. It was like a muggle traffic jam, where my thoughts couldn't go until I'd thought about them. It felt silly but I had to make my way through them all, some needing more time than others, before I could do anything again. 

I made my way to my overnight case after I'd cleared my thoughts. I hadn't noticed that one of the locks had been left open. Maybe I'd forgotten to do it after leaving the Malfoy residence? It was possible. I forget things a lot, you see. 

I didn't have time to check the contents because dad called me down to dinner. 

***

Throughout dinner (mac and cheese - always dad's specialty when mum is at an away game with the Harpies') I kept thinking about my case. Scorp could have gone in it. That could have been true as well, Scorp was like that. I ate my mac and cheese in near silence while deliberating on possibilities. 

Eventually I got bored and thought about other things. Like Mac and cheese, and Mr. Malfoy's hands, and the Quibbler and how I missed mum, and Quidditch, and how Mr. Malfoy's eyes looked in the half light of his study...  
"Al, why are you staring like that?"   
That was my older sister, Lily. I'm not used to her paying enough attention to me to notice what I do. I jumped slightly at the intrusion of my thinking.   
"Like what?" I shovelled more macaroni into my mouth.   
"Like-" Lily tried to demonstrate by staring off into space and opening her mouth a little. I must have still looked confused because she rolled her eyes at me from across the table. "Like a love-sick puppy." 

I sat up a little straighter while Dad laughed across the table at something James said.   
It made me look. At James, at dad. How similar they were. Even Lily looked like mum. I felt like I didn't belong anywhere. Especially not at this table. This table was full of Gryffindors and Potters.   
I didn't feel like a Potter and I'm not a Gryffindor. 

It took forever for dinner to conclude and when it did I all but fled to my room. Of course, I tried to be inconspicuous about it, but then again, when do things ever work in my favour? 

There was an owl at my window when I got to my room. It was tapping gently on the glass to be let in. I had to scramble over all James' discarded stuff to get to it though. As soon as I opened the window, a letter was tossed at me before the owl flew away. I didn't have to pay for the letter, so it wasn't the post. Sometimes the post comes to my room because James buys stupid magazines and stuff.

It was nice paper, creamy and thick. I breathed in the smell of cedar and green, an expensive cologne I'd only heard of because the ad's were everywhere. I thought Draco might wear it. But I could be wrong.   
Opening the paper, I found myself trembling. It was cold. It must have been. 

Beautiful black calligraphy stared back at me as I read. I tiptoed over to my case, almost hesitantly, glancing at the paper every few seconds as if the words would change. Opening the case made everything more real, including the parchment in my hand.


	3. Catch me by the throat and never let go

I breathe heavily as the feeling twists inside of me, the warmth of lubricant leaking over perfectly manicured fingers as the pressure increases and stars burst around the insides of my eyelids. 

It's too much and not enough all at the same time, right before I ride on the ecstasy he gives me.  
And then his hand wraps around my throat, and it's as though my very soul is being set on fire. I relish in it. My thighs shake and my heart beats to the pulsating of my core, leaving me almost convulsing as my mind goes blank a third time. 

I think about the first time we did this. Remembering every detail, how scared I was, how happy. The conflicting waves of emotion writhing over each other like ocean waves. When Mr. Malfoy kissed me for the first time, in the rain beside a muggle bus stop, hands roaming my back, comforting the damp fabric of my sweater.   
He pushed my hair back from my face and looked into my eyes the way he had before and everything felt right with the world. 

But he also left me, shivering at my door step. 

I remember everything as I come down from my high.  
How he whispered sweet nothing's in my ear the first time he pushed inside me, how good I was for him.  
How he pulled away, telling me he was sorry and out of line and embarrassment to his family. 

I broke a little back then. Not enough though, it's never enough because the next night I found myself back at the Manor's doorstep. Back beneath his sheets staring at the warm lies his grey eyes insisted on telling me. Drinking them in as if nothing else in the world mattered but us. 

I'm older now, I can handle it. I tell myself this every time and every time I have to tell myself, my heart breaks a little more. Because I do. I have to tell myself or I don't know what I'll do. 

As I get older, I learn to ignore it, maybe.   
But I don't really because I still notice when his eyes go from loving to cold.   
Even though I can ignore how my eyes tear up from watching his nose crinkle, I can only think of how he looks like an imperfect painting.  
But at least I'm not blind to it, I tell myself, at least I can realise he doesn't feel the same, right? It lets me know that whatever transpired between the sheets isn't with him anymore. But sometimes I think that maybe it is, that he can feel it the same way i always do. Because it's with me. Always with me.

It lingers in my clothes as I collect them from their strewn places over his floor, weaves it's way into my coat as I pull it from the rack. It follows me home where I eat my dinner with it in silence, deliberating over whether doing this is even a good idea. 

But when I'm in his arms, when he wraps himself around me and when he kisses my forehead and dips his fingers around my hipbone and murmurs in my ear, I allow myself to believe it.   
For a time, for half an hour, it's almost love.

Sometimes I think I should stop chasing. But I feel it, I really do. It's so close I can almost touch it, even see it. Sometimes I do. I see it when he looks into my eyes and I feel it, hot and heavy in his breath. I just wish I could make him experience it the way I do. 

Because then, then it'd be love. I bet it could be - I know it could be.   
If only he'd learn to love me back.


End file.
